


The Goblin King’s Elf-Bride

by TalulahGosh



Category: Original Work, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Blow Jobs, But also they love each other, Consensual Kink, Creampie, Deepthroating, Degradation, Dildos, Elves, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Facials, First Time Blow Jobs, Goblins, Groped by Your Wedding Guests, Groping, Humiliation, Impregnation, Interspecies Relationship(s), It's time for that nasty shit, Kink Negotiation, Multi, Omorashi, Open Marriage, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Orcs, Orgasm Delay, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Public Sex at Your Wedding, Ritual Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Slut Shaming, Spit Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, Watersports, Weddings, golden showers, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalulahGosh/pseuds/TalulahGosh
Summary: Thanaleth, Marchwarden of the Woodland Realm, has had 400 years to consider what kind of serene, gentle Elf man she wants to spend the rest of her immortal life frolicking in the trees with. Instead, what she has learned is that you can develop a lot of kinks in 400 years.The local Goblin King is here to help with that.Or, the one in which Goblins have sublimated their resentment at being Middle-earth’s least respected, most abused people by developing a sexual hierarchy in which the reigning King or Queen is also a submissive who performs degrading and humiliating acts for the amusement of their consort and subjects.
Relationships: Original Elf Character(s)/Original Orc Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Thanaleth/Ishbolg
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are some references to the setting and vibe of Tolkien's works, but there are no canon characters featured or even mentioned. It's really just a venue for some good old fashioned extremely nasty smut.
> 
> Sorry, Professor.

“Do you, King Ishbolg of Lime Hollow, take Thanaleth, Marchwarden of the Woodland Realm, to be your wife?

“Will you love and honor her? Will you fight by her side in war, rule by her side in peace? 

“Will you raise her up to be your tower of strength, to cast her shadow on you in friendship and power as long as you both shall live?”

“I will,” said Ishbolg, his yellow eyes bright and feline in the lamplit hall carved out of the rocky hillside.

Thanaleth drank him in, fixing this moment in her mind. His jutting jaw, asymmetrical but not unhandsome. His gray skin that somehow shined in different colors at different angles, green here, fire-red there, a hint of deep blue in some of the shadows. He wore a magnificent suit of leathers and wool and polished bronze studs, overlaid with bright multicolored jewelry. His taloned toes, clicking bare on the stone floor as he shifted his weight, were painted blood red.

When she had first brought up the idea of marriage, he’d laughed in her face. When she had brought it up a second time, he had patiently explained to her why such a union was beyond imagining. Why no Elf would want to marry the Goblin way.

“And will you defile and dishonor her? Will you sink her into the dirt, to be the wretched and fertile slime of the Earth, to slake the sordid lusts of you and your band as long as you both shall live?”

Ishbolg stared into her eyes for a long moment. He still didn’t believe she could really do this, she knew.

“I will,” he said, and there was a hungry growl in it that shot through her, from the hot skin of her face to the blood rushing between her thighs.

For four hundred years, Thanaleth had been, as far as anyone knew, nothing but good and pure, serene and maidenly. A spring blossom dancing lightly on the tips of tree branches at her mother’s endless recitals. A graceful shadow piercing intruders on the forest domain with unseen arrows.

Her future had been set. She was supposed to eventually fall in love with a handsome, high-born Elf-husband, kind and gentle. They would marry and become serene lovers, frolicking in the trees. Once every millennium or so, they might produce a perfect baby.

Thanaleth was still an Elf, and she _did_ love to frolic in the trees. She was beautiful, she knew well, with a sharp mind and dagger.

Pure and maidenly was more the difficulty.

She had dallied with a dignitary on a visit to Lothlórien. She had even spent a lovely and illuminating afternoon with a Man, many mortal lifetimes ago, a broad-shouldered hunter who had blundered into her woods.

And she had heard the rumors of the depravity of the Goblins. On night patrol, she had heard whispered stories of nightmarish orgies and twisted displays of love.

She was supposed to shudder in fright, and be thankful that she was an Elf, living among Elves. But she knew she was only pretending.

Some hundred years prior, when she led a company of Elf warriors to the aid of a King of Men whose domain was under attack by the Dark Lord, her detachment had stopped for the night near where their allies were camped. 

Thanaleth had stolen away to catch a glimpse of these Men. She hadn’t admitted it to herself at the time, but she had realized later she had obviously been hoping to meet someone like her long-dead hunter.

She had come upon a knot of what she learned were camp-followers, civilian entrepreneurs who travelled with the army to sell food, laundry services, and entertainment. All kinds of entertainment.

Perched in a tree, Thanaleth had watched in fascinated horror as a plump young Woman came her way with four nervous, gangly soldiers in tow. The Woman had laid out a tattered blanket under the spreading branches, shimmied out of her dress, and had given her hidden watcher a vivid demonstration of cocksucking.

By the time the young Woman departed, a few coins richer and dripping pearly white, Thanaleth’s fingers had found their way inside her traveling breeches, and she shook so hard with her release that she almost fell out of the tree.

She had also learned a new word: whore.

In the morning, she strode openly into the Men’s camp, and all around her soldiers and camp-followers fell into reverent silence, gazing reverently, awed, she knew, by her beauty and poise and more-than-mortal presence. Most had probably never seen an Elf maiden up close before.

But when she asked the Men to tell her more about whores, some froze, other fled in terror. One fell to his knees and begged her not to destroy him. She saw a deep and powerful shame in them that twisted strangely in her gut, and colored her memories in throbbing hues.

When she had told Ishbolg about this experience, and how many late nights thereafter she had imagined herself in the whore’s place, the Goblin King had guffawed even harder than when she first brought up marriage. But after he wiped away the tears of laughter, he had looked at her with a more thoughtful expression.

“Do you, Thanaleth, Marchwarden of the Woodland Realm, take King Ishbolg of Lime Hollow to be your husband?”

She glanced over at the craggy old Goblin priestess in her black robes embroidered with red fangs and coiling dragons.

“Will you love and honor him? Will you fight by his side in war, rule by his side in peace?”

She thought of Hend, Ishbolg’s wife, who had died some years back, in the final battle against the Dark Lord. The Goblins of Lime Hollow had turned against the Dark Lord at the end, and had allied with the free peoples of the world.

Thanaleth had fought alongside Lime Hollow in an early skirmish, in which she had made a foolish mistake and gotten herself injured. Ishbolg and Hend had jeered her mercilessly for her ineptitude, but after a few minutes they were feeding her a rich and spicy broth and telling bawdy stories while she waited for her companions.

Thanaleth had only known Hend for a short time, but the Orcish Queen had been proud and strong. She had described in gruesome detail how she had dealt with a Man in the Dark Lord’s service who had demanded she and Ishbolg order their band to fight to the death in a useless stand to defend a worthless hill.

Thanaleth hadn’t known then just what being Ishbolg’s Queen entailed, but the picture of it somehow seemed to rhyme with the brave warrior she remembered, dripping with the blood of her enemies. 

As Ishbolg had later explained to her, between the King and Queen, there was always one who led the band in battle, and one who was subordinate. But the one who led had a second, special role.

The Goblins had been dominated by a high and untouchable Dark Lord whom they feared and despised. Perhaps that deep well of resentment was why they had developed a warped form of hierarchy.

An Orcish King or Queen regnant was far from high or untouchable. When they weren’t commanding their subjects, they served as a low and compliant figure to be humiliated and debauched for the people’s pleasure. 

The thought sent lightning surging through Thanaleth’s blood.

But could she win the loyalty of the Lime Hollow Goblins the way Hend had? If war came, would they dismiss her and look to her husband for orders? 

“Will you rise up to be his tower of strength, to cast your shadow on him in friendship and power as long as you both shall live?”

“I will,” she said, looking into her groom’s eyes, trying not to show fear.

“And will you defile and dishonor yourself for him? Will you sink into the dirt, to be the wretched and fertile slime of the Earth, to slake the sordid lusts of him and your band as long as you both shall live?”

A warm draft passed through the hall, ruffling her gown. It was an enveloping mass of flowers and leaves, spider-silk and bright river stones, a beautiful garment that she and her maidservants back home had slaved over for weeks. Her hair had been arranged into a high, elaborate nest of foliage and berries. She’d put her foot down over the idea of including an entire apple.

But none of her family were here to see it. Her mother had merely watched, tight-lipped, as Thanaleth had climbed up to sit in front of Ishbolg on his astonishingly fluffy Warg, and turned away in silence as her only daughter rode away to be wed.

The only other Elf here was Emathiol, who had come galloping up on a splendid white stallion just minutes before the ceremony. She was the only one of her own kind that Thanaleth had ever been able to confide in.

Now, Thanaleth’s friend was gazing at her from the front row with an expression of dignified concern.

The other guests were all Goblins. Thanaleth’s new band. Some of them sneered at her with a skeptical eye, like they didn’t think she would really go through with it, or maybe just that they didn’t think their King should be marrying an Elf. But many others were grinning joyously. A few, including Ishbolg’s mother, had tears streaming down their faces, and one elderly Goblin of unclear gender was loudly blowing their nose.

And then, smattered throughout the crowd of well-wishers was another look, one of undisguised thirst.

“I will,” she said firmly, holding her new husband’s gaze. He was very tall for a Goblin, which meant he stood nearly eye-to-eye with his Eldar lady, but he was broader of build than an Elf, or even a Man, so that he appeared to loom regardless, as he leaned in to fasten a bronze collar with delicate gold inlays around her throat.

“Then, by the Spirits of Stone and Bog, and by the Sun Demon’s Wheel,” croaked the priestess, “I pronounce you husband and wife. Hail Queen Thanaleth, sovereign of Lime Hollow!”

“Hail the Queen!” shouted the Goblins. “Thanaleth! Thanaleth! Thanaleth!”

Ishbolg leaned in to kiss her, and as their lips met, the priestess, crooked grin audible in her voice, intoned he closing words, “You may beg your husband to fuck you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ishbolg drew back from the kiss, heart pounding, grinning like an idiot.

He looked into the eyes of his wife, huge and dark, rimmed with celebratory Orcish pigments, black and green and pink and gold that had been dabbed on by a horde of buzzing volunteers.

Wife!

He tasted the word on his tongue. It had been too long. His band had grown restless, going years without a Queen. He had met with many eligible warriors from neighboring Goblin bands, but all he’d been able to see in them was a bad imitation of Hend.

Now, standing before him was Thanaleth, looking like nothing in the world but herself. His wife.

It had been a fun kind of torture, spending the past week with her at the Elves’ citadel, hashing out the details for the ceremony in a semi-private nook high in a tree. Thanaleth’s mother must have had eyes all around them, watching out for her daughter’s safety.

Ishbolg understood that. He had been desperate to touch his bride-to-be, but he was taking the time to ensure Thanaleth’s safety in a different way. He wanted her wedding to be everything she dreamed of. But he had been wracked with worry that he would go too far, that his bride would agree to things she would regret.

He’d heard it said that in spite of all their differences, the Goblins and the immortal Elves were once kin. That thousands of years ago, when the world was young, the Dark Lord’s old master came among them, and picked out the the outcasts, the creeps, the nasty and cruel and weird, and conscripted them into his service.

So, perhaps for all their stuffy pretense, deep down the Elves had the same dark drives as regular people. 

“We may not suffer the careening urgency of you mortals,” she had told him tartly, “But consider all the perversions you could come up with if you had four hundred years to think of them.”

He thought of all the ages he imagined he could see in her unlined face. Four centuries of pent-up desires. Four centuries of wisdom, dancing in the quirk of a lip amused at all his nervous objections. Four centuries of priggish Elf dignity that he knew they both ached to see broken down.

“Please, my King,” she said softly, “Fuck me.”

“I dunno if the folks at the back can hear you,” he said.

“Please, my King!” she pitched her voice to project to the crowd now, a touch defiant, face reddening. “Fuck me! Give me your cock!”

She’d once had to explain to him what blushing was, in a voice tumbling with melodious, un-Orcish laughter. Ishbolg planned to see a lot more of that blush, and hear a lot more of that laugh.

“Ey! Should I give the Elf whore what she wants?” Ishbolg called out to those assembled.

“No!” came the unanimous shouted response.

“Hmm!” he bellowed, turning back to her. “It sounds like you’re gonna hafta earn it.”

There was a small portion of the Woodland Realm that the Lime Hollow Goblins were allowed to hunt in, an arrangement dating back to the Dark Lord’s War. It was there that he and Thanaleth had arranged their clandestine meetings over the past few years. 

When she had blurted out a proposal of marriage to him, with charming awkwardness, at a pompous celebration for the birth of a prince of Men, he had rejected her rather brutally. But by the end of an evening spent cracking up at her impressions of various stuck-up twits in her village, he had been persuaded to meet her in a certain clearing in a month’s time.

She had begged him to let her prove that she was no delicate flower, and some wall inside him had cracked, just a tiny bit.

They hadn’t done much more than talk in their hidden clearing. For one thing, he had no intention of getting shot by Thanaleth’s friends. The arrangement between Goblins and Elves applied to hunting game, not princesses.

He had believed at first that he was merely playing with her. Indulging a lonely, foolish Elf maiden’s daydream of being swept away by a debauched Goblin King.

At their second meeting, he told her that Orcs simply had filthy minds, and she would run screaming from his bed if she ever found herself there. 

A few minutes later, she’d told him of a time when she was very young, no more than forty, and she had come across a lone Goblin pissing against a tree not far from their meeting place.

“I don’t know why, but I was fascinated, and I crept up close, as close as I thought I could without getting caught. I can be _very_ sneaky.

“I got so close that if he had heard me and turned around sharply, I might have gotten smacked in the face by his piss.

“It didn’t happen, but I imagined it, and I kept imagining it. I guess I decided that I deserved to get pissed on, for spying on him. And…that excited me.”

He had been rock hard at the end of her story, and after that, he began for the first time to consider what he might do with her if he really did take her home.

He began to set her little tasks, embarrassing things she could do to test her desires. He told her to write something shameful on her own skin, something that made her stomach flutter, and go around all day with the words branded on her, underneath her beautiful elf dress.

The next month, she told him that she had danced at the Summer Solstice festival with all the handsomest Elf lords of the forest, spinning to a chorus of flutes and drums, and all the while she had “Goblin Whore” written across her breasts, just out of sight.

When she vividly told him how she had touched herself that night, he realized that he didn’t want it to be just a game anymore.

A later task had come with a gift. By this time, he had finally come to his senses and reciprocated her marriage proposal.

He handed her an oblong package, wrapped in gray husks of the rock maize that grew around Lime Hollow.

“It’s rather… suggestively-shaped, isn’t it?” she laughed, taking it in hand, and clutching it to her chest.

“Crafted to my personal measurements.”

“How thoughtful you are!” she was still chortling.

He leaned in closer, closer than he ever had in their previous meetings in the clearing.

“When you are my Queen, I’m going to fuck your whore mouth, and I ain’t gonna waste my time with a worthless little Elf who can’t go all the way.

“So you’re going to practice with this replica, until you can take the whole thing.”

“Yes, my King,” she said, cheeks aflame.

“One more thing. Mouth only. Your worthless cunt ain’t worthy yet to touch even an imitation of my cock.”

He recalled how he’d been unable to keep the joy off of his face when she returned, proud of her hard-fought victory. He’d almost swept her into his arms right there.

He was finding it hard not to sweep her into his arms right here, right now, in the grand hall where she had just become his Queen. But there was a little more work to be done.

Instead, he sat on his throne, and stamped one foot.

“Footstool!” he called out.

With only a slight hesitation, his wife knelt in front of him, bending down to rest her elbows on the stone floor, making a platform of herself for him. 

Cheers and applause broke out as he kicked up his feet and settled them gently on the small of her back. She was breathing hard. Her long dress, shimmering white and gold and red and green, spread out around her on the ground. One little strand of her long, gray-gold hair had loosed itself and tumbled down past her down-turned eyes. 

“You’re doing so well, my Queen,” he cooed for her ears alone, and he felt drunk on the hot blood rushing joyously up and down his body as he prepared to greet the receiving line.


	3. Chapter 3

From her footstool position, Thanaleth could only see feet, approaching, pausing, shuffling past.

Unseen fingers brushed her cheek, almost tenderly. Another hand caressed her upturned backside.

“Congratulations, my Lord and Lady!” piped a Goblin warrior in the strange, nasally sort of voice some of them had, a charming contrast to their grim appearance. She suppressed a laugh, then had to stifle a moan as a pair of fingers pressed between her thighs, pushing the smooth spider-silk fabric between the folds of her sex, sliding it around easily in her moisture.

“May you reign long and fruitfully together!” called out another Goblin voice she didn’t recognize. She would learn who they all were soon, but today, it was mostly strangers passing by to congratulate her. 

The fingers left her, but her dress was now noticeably sticky where they had been, and she was sure there was now an undignified wet spot visible to those lining up.

A hand touched her hair — did someone just take one of her decorative berries and _eat_ it? — and another slapped her ass, not hard, but bringing a tiny, surprised yelp from her lips.

“Congratulations on finding such an obedient Elf whore, my Lord!” boomed a deeper voiced Goblin. Thanaleth was pretty sure it was one of her husband’s aunts, who had helped her prepare this morning. Fingers rubbed gently at the back of her neck. “When you lead Lime Hollow in battle, my Lady, the memory of your bravery this day will rally us.” 

“Hear! Hear!” shouted another Goblin, and the hall took up the cheer.

Another smack came down on her rear.

It was mortifying to display herself this way, as a debased thing, and more mortifying still to be horribly aware that she liked it.

Her head was spinning, and her arms had begun to tremble under the weight of Ishbolg’s muscular legs on her back, but a wave of determination steadied her. She would not give up, not when she had come so far.

She had another problem, one that had been creeping up on her throughout the ceremony. She really, really had to pee.

It didn’t help that a finger was again teasing the embarrassingly growing wet spot where the back of her dress was now sticking to her. This time, the unknown toucher pressed a silk-shrouded digit deep inside her, and she cried out, turning to a whimper of disappointment when it left her.

Another hand rustled through the leaves arranged carefully over her breasts. It found a nipple, and tugged at it.

More congratulations were exchanged, but it was becoming harder for her to focus on the words.

A callused hand cupped her face. A thumb brushed her lower lip. Gentle talons parted her jaw, teased her tongue, lingered there. A sandpapery Goblin voice was complimenting her husband on how fine her teeth were. She watched a droplet of drool escape from her mouth and plop onto the stone.

Finally, the fingers left her mouth. The Goblin wiped them off on her hair before walking away towards the feasting hall.

The next foot to step up into her limited vision was an elegant leather slipper. Emathiol, the one Elf from her home city who had dared to show herself.

“You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you?” sang the soft voice in her native tongue, and Emathiol broke into laughter, the bright laughter Thanaleth remembered from long nights on the marchwardens’ watch, when for a brief moment the facade cracked. 

“Should I…?” Emathiol faltered, hesitant.

“Please,” Thanaleth breathed. “Tonight I am merely a cheap amusement. Treat me as you would a plaything.”

Slender fingers stroked her then, from her shoulder down to her hip.

“If your regal mother could only see you now, I do think her spirit would fly right off to Valinor.”

Emathiol trailed to Thanaleth’s wet spot, giggling, then up to the pucker of her ass, which she circled lightly through the fine material.

“King Ishbolg,” she said, her fingertips disappearing. “I hope you understand what a special footstool you have, and treat it always with the love and respect it deserves.” 

She paused.

“If you don’t, I _will_ find out about it.”

At that, Ishbolg laughed a deep, rumbling laugh.

“I won’t forget it,” he said.

When at last the entire line had passed through, and the boisterous sound of a hall full of Goblins had turned distant and muted as it moved fully into the nearby feasting hall, Thanaleth felt a weight rise from her back, and she sighed with pleasure at the sudden lightness.

“You are a true Goblin Queen, my sweet, dirty whore,” Ishbolg breathed, coming to his feet. “I’ll fight anyone who wants to argue.”

She only continued to cast her eyes downward, though they were welling with tears as shame and joy mingled with minutes, hours, days of tension loosing itself from her.

“Look at me, my Queen.”

She did, rising to a kneeling position to lock eyes with him. He brushed at her wet and burning cheeks.

“We’re alone now,” he said. “Speak. What do you want?”

“Please, my King. I am all yours, flooded with desire. Fuck me.”

He didn’t move, only glowed down at her. She hesitated.

“But…but first. I…” she swallowed, and continued in a smaller voice. “I do very much need to piss.”

Thanaleth had gone days without sleep or other relief in times of war and emergency, but there were limits to the physical prowess of even a Marchwarden of the Woodland Realm, and Ishbolg had challenged her to push those limits in advance of the festivities. 

In other words, she hadn’t been to the latrine since well before arriving in Lime Hollow.

He laughed softly, unbuckling his belt.

“Tell you what, piglet,” he went on, freeing his cock from his trousers, “If you ask me very politely, maybe I’ll give you my piss, and when I’m done we can see about _your_ little problem.”

“Please, my King,” she said. Her mouth felt dry. Her bladder was throbbing. “Give me your piss.”

“I think you can be more polite than that,” he said. She was staring at his cock, standing at attention before her. It was so much more beautiful than the replica, dark and strange and catching the light in shifting ways.

“Please, my King, my most gracious Lord,” she tried. “I most humbly entreat you—”

He laughed. “Maybe _too_ polite. Why don’t you try telling me why I should give you my piss.”

“Because…” she felt like she was about to burst. “Because for four hundred years I’ve been pretending to be a pure and virtuous maiden who thinks pure and virtuous thoughts…”

She looked up into his eyes again.

“And all I want is to be free of all that. I want you to make me your dirty little whore. Please, my King. Piss on me like a fallen log. Ruin my beautiful dress. Let me drink of it like a worm in the ground!”

The stream hit her forehead at the very moment she finished her plea, and her words were shocked into a laugh as the hot, vile liquid danced across her face, catching her hair, running down her lips and chin.

He aimed it into her mouth, and she let her jaw fall open, tasting his bitterness on his tongue, swallowing down as much as she could. 

He was cooing words of love and praise, and her spirit rose like a leaf on the wind. How could it feel so good to become so low and repulsive, and to be loved for it?

Her own need to piss had become almost unbearable. Trembling at the effort, she distracted herself by considering the open door nearby, facing into the feasting hall where Emathiol and all the Lime Hollow Goblins were gathered, waiting for the food to be served. Any one of them could glance in and see her in this disgraceful state.

She didn’t think her body had ever seethed with need like it did now.

Ishbolg swept his stream down her body, streaking her dress with lurid yellow, letting the drops patter against one of her breasts, teasing the stiff nipple.

She leaned forward slightly, opening her lips wider, extending her tongue and looking into his eyes, and he rewarded her by renewing his attention on her mouth, letting her swallow more of the intoxicating brew.

When she had swallowed down the very last of it, rivulets still running down her throat and between her breasts, she smiled up at him.

“Thank you, my King. Please, may I relieve myself now?”

“Yes, my beautiful, sweet piglet. Piss yourself for me. Wallow in it.”

The relief she felt when she let it go at last was indescribable. Her piss splashed furiously against the stone floor, splashing her feet and thighs, spreading in a puddle that inundated the hem of her dress where it piled up around her legs.

She moaned in abject relief, not caring who heard or saw.

Looking up again she saw her husband’s cock again, inches from her lips. Like his muscular body, it was thicker than that of a man or elf, and slightly twisted in form in a way that some claimed to find ugly, but to her seemed like a welcome truth.

“Are you prepared to take me?” he said, slitted eyes casting down at her in the dim. “I won’t be gentle.”

She purred low in her throat as she continued to blessedly empty herself, emboldened, almost giddy. “We Eldar can endure trials far beyond mortal limits.”


	4. Chapter 4

If he were a lesser King, Ishbolg thought, he’d have spent right then and there, just from the sight of his beautiful, defiant wife, loose strands of golden hair streaming down her face like the piss beading on her collarbone, elaborate bridal makeup beginning to blur and run down her flushed cheeks.

But he, too, could endure trials beyond mortal limits for the sake of his beloved.

Instead, he stepped forward, his talons scoring her dress where it puddled around her, staining in the expanding yellow morass, and brought his rigid cock into contact with her lips.

She closed her eyes and caressed him with her face, delicate nostrils flaring as she ran her cheek and forehead along his length. She took the fly of his trousers between her teeth, parting it wider, letting her pointed nose brush against the hairs around his base, breathing deeply of him.

He couldn’t take much more of this. He planted a fist in her damp hair, jerking her head back. She made a sound of surprise that turned into a laugh, and she opened her mouth wide, inviting him — then stretching even wider to accommodate him as he pushed his way in.

“Show me how well you’ve practiced, little whore.” 

He leaned forward slowly. She made a small choking sound, but held fast, breathing slowly, shudderingly through her nose, and then pressed further, advancing to meet him. He could see her eyes beginning to tear up, but she didn’t back down.

He remembered meeting her during the War, long ago. She had twisted her ankle badly in a fall from her horse, but she fought on with a greater fury than before.

Now, she locked her watery gaze on his as he took a careful grip on the sides of her head.

“Next feasting day,” he breathed, “I was thinking we might honor our new Queen by allowing you to suck every cock and cunt in Lime Hollow.” 

He began to rock his hips, each stroke taking her throat as deep as she could go.

“But if they’re not satisfied, they may just throw you on the trash heap when they’re done with you.”

Thanaleth moaned around his cock, seeming to bear his long thrusts with an immortal fortitude that compensated for her inexperience.

She was breathtaking.

“Then again, they may just throw you on the trash heap even if they _are_ satisfied, because they know how much their whore Queen loves to be put in her place.”

Fire and lust shimmered in her eyes, and he was undone.

He pulled back, freeing himself from her lips, concentrating on maintaining his suddenly precarious balance.

Thanaleth gasped raggedly, closing her eyes as his spend striped her face and chest, a triumphant smile forming on her wet lips.

“Thank you, my King.”

Ishbolg allowed himself to stagger back onto his throne, sitting down in surrender. He shook his head, breathing hard, watching spit and come roll down her chin as she regarded him with a pleased expression. Her smeared and running makeup had been joined by the remains of a ripe berry that had tumbled from her hair and been squashed against her forehead.

Somewhere in all the activity, her bodice had lost a few leaves and flowers, and now one of her breasts stood uncovered, quivering heavy with her breath in the lamplight, plump and wet.

“I don’t think any King there ever was has had such good fortune,” he said.

With an effort, he rose again from his throne.

“Shall we join the band?” he said, extending a hand to her, which she took gingerly. He helped her rise, and began to lead her towards the archway leading into the feasting hall. “Everyone must be getting hungry.”

He felt her hesitate, stop, just before the threshold.

“Please, my King — am I not to wash, before the feast?”

He half-turned to her, front foot still planted in the doorway. Only his body blocked the sight of her from the buzzing crowd beyond, and she leaned back, blushing.

He touched the tip of her nose with a finger, running it down her lips and chin, feeling her breath catch as he continued down her throat.

“I ordered your bath laid out in the feasting hall,” he said. “But if you’re not ready to walk among your people in full regalia, I understand.”

She had a distant, worried look, and he felt a pang of regret for having pushed her too far, too soon. But instead she stepped forward. Steel glinted in her gray eyes. Sodden dress leaving a trail of piss, Thanaleth brushed past him.

The buzz in the hall quieted, and then rose again. There were hoots and cheers and scattered clapping and pounding of tables that crested into a roar of approval.

Ishbolg followed behind her, grinning a little bit meekly. 

He stood at the head of the royal table, lined with his family and his closest companions, as well as Emathiol, the Elf lady who had come in Thanaleth’s support. He beamed at her. She looked slightly dazed.

Corgoz, his regular hunting buddy and Lime Hollow’s demolition expert, was dabbing away tears.

Next to his chair, where the Queen’s would normally be, a bath had been placed, and someone was helpfully adding a fresh tin of hot water.

A lackey brought him a washing-bowl for his hands.

His mother handed him a huge ceremonial goblet of dark beer. He raised it high, calling for a toast to the new Queen, and all sang her praises. 

Together, the King and Queen drained the cup. In the silence that followed, Thanaleth gave a delicate little burp, and said, “I’ve had better piss.”

Officially, Ishbolg had ceased to be top dog in Lime Hollow the moment they said “I will.” But now it was so much more than official.


	5. Chapter 5

Helpful hands led Thanaleth to the tub. A trio of Goblins she was beginning to recognize as members of Ishbolg’s household staff — _her_ staff — peeled her out of her befouled dress. One of them gave her breasts a quick squeeze in the process.

An Elf could be comfortable in water that would set a Man’s teeth chattering. Thanaleth was accustomed to bathing in the cool stream that ran through her mother’s palace, which a clever architect had channeled into little artificial waterfalls that tumbled through a handful of hidden closets for washing and other needs.

But as Thanaleth eased into the steaming Goblin bath, she very quickly decided it was going to be hot water for her from now on. 

She sank down as far as she could, trying to let the water obscure her nudity. She had given everyone quite a view already, and she was terribly conscious of the lecherous eyes darting her way all around the hall. She hoped they would soon be distracted by the food.

One of her attendants started lathering her shoulders with soap, and she leaned in, purring. Something touched her mouth, and she opened her eyes to her husband pressing a chunk of warm, buttered bread to her lips. She parted her lips to receive it, and began to chew gingerly.

It was delicious, and, fortunately for her weary jaw, soft.

Her blush rose again, thinking of the work that her jaw had recently done. 

The replica cock had given her some preparation for the size of him in her mouth. But to use it herself, for practice, had been nothing like the reality of Ishbolg seizing control, squeezing every inch of himself down her throat.

He must have noticed her faraway expression, because he asked her softly what she was thinking of. She swallowed the bread. The attendant at her shoulder, a fat little Goblin with long, braided hair, was now massaging soap into her breasts. 

“You,” she said. “That is, your cock.”

Her husband barked a laugh.

Thanaleth gasped as the Goblin pulled sharply at her nipple, twisting it, as if this was quite a normal part of the bathing routine.

The enormous, fluffy Warg was curled around Ishbolg’s chair, and he fed it a morsel of meat, then ripped off another piece and pressed it into Thanaleth’s mouth, caressing her lower lip with his thumb as she chewed.

Another attendant, tall and skinny, lifted her feet out of the water one at a time and carefully washed them, soaping between each toe.

Her husband continued to feed her from his hand as the feasting went on around her. Someone lifted up her arm to wash underneath. She was being treated like she didn’t have the wit to even act on her own behalf. Part of her was enjoying luxuriating in a kind of helplessness.

The stocky, heavily tattooed attendant who had been washing her feet gradually pushed the washcloth further up her legs, and soon was massaging her inner thighs. It was a region that had been desperate for attention all day, so that in spite of her embarrassment at the glowing eyes shining down at her all around, she found herself bucking her hips against the washcloth.

“Now don’t forget, my Queen,” Ishbolg rumbled. “Not yet.”

Thanaleth heard herself make a throaty sound halfway between a moan and a whine as the washcloth was taken away.

Someone _spat_ on her forehead, then began to nonchalantly wipe the area clean.

Strong hands spun her around so that she was looking down into the water, hair tumbling around her face and her backside raised up out of the bath, fully exposed to her new subjects, a few of whom hooted with prurient glee. 

Fingers spread the cheeks of her ass open wide, and a soft brush was used to scrub between them. When they were finished, she received a ringing spank before being turned over again.

As they ate, Ishbolg regaled the table with stories of their courtship, and she occasionally piped in with a funny detail or opposing perspective. She found herself becoming less regardful of whether her breasts were concealed by the water, a battle that seemed increasingly lost. 

She felt hands gathering her hair behind her head, followed by a strange rhythmic tugging sensation. Ishbolg fed her some spicy fried dumblings from the table. More of her hair was gathered up and a second rhythm joined the first.

Turning her gaze back as well as she could, she realized with dawning dismay that the attendants at her back were each fucking a fistful of her long hair. She nearly shouted in shock, but when her mouth fell open her husband popped another dumpling into it. As she watched out of the corner of her eye, blushing furiously as she chewed, the Goblin at her left shuddered with release, pumping his cock into her wet locks.

When they were done, they began to massage their foul spend into her hair with the help of big jeweled combs. The third attendant was carefully trimming her fingernails.

She shook her head at the next bite Ishbolg proferred.

“I have many powers,” she said, “But I doubt I’ll ever match your capacity for feasting!”

He tossed the chunk to his Warg instead, and grazed her cheek with a light touch of his knuckle, making her shiver. 

“I look forward to learning all your powers, and their limits.”

He reached down further, thumbing Thanaleth’s nipple, and then caressing her belly and waist under the water. Her hair was now being subjected to some sort of black and fetid muck that seemed even worse than the last treatment.

Someone began to brush her teeth, lathering them with a sharp-tasting concoction that made her gums tingle.

When her mouth and hair were fully rinsed out, she was lifted entirely from the water by all three attendants, and found herself being spun around, patted and brushed and swaddled all over with soft, warm towels.

She was set down on her feet, head spinning, and the hands and towels fell away. She looked around to see the three attendants rubbing sweet-smelling oils into their hands from a little cart covered in strange bottles. Around the hall, feasting tables were being cleared.

One Goblin carefully anointed her face, another her hair. The third slathered the stuff all over her arms and breasts. Her feet and legs got it next. The fat little attendant got out a special little bottle and a tiny comb and worked a few drops of the contents into the hairs around her sex.

Another attendant produced a pair of bottles labeled, respectively, CUNT GREASE and ASS CREAM, and hands guided her into a bent-over position. She was so close to release, and it took all of her will not to let go as they began to massage the lotions into her. But Thanaleth had a strong will, and she had no intention of disappointing her husband tonight.

She felt one of the fingers rubbing around the bud of her ass slowly push into her, and begin thrusting in and out. She groaned in an agony of overwhelming sensation. Just when she could no longer stop herself from shamelessly rutting against the hands, they left her, and for a long moment she just stood there, feet spread apart, hands on her knees, displaying her backside to the hall, dripping with arousal and mysterious substances.

Into the silence came a loud squeaking sound as someone pushed the little cart away.

Then Ishbolg was sweeping her into his arms, and he kissed her, long and deep. As she tentatively touched her tongue to his sharp teeth, he clasped the gold-and-bronze royal collar once more around her throat — a covering so meager that it only emphasized her nudity. 

“Let’s dance,” he said, spinning her towards the center of the hall as a rhythm of drums and pipes and twanging strings rose up, from a band she hadn’t noticed assembling at the far end.

Goblins were swinging into action, some climbing up on tables, talons clicking on wood and stone as they twirled, occasionally bashing into each other in a way that looked like a painful mistake until you noticed how deftly they spun the momentum off into the next careen.

She saw Emathiol, learning some Orcish steps from Ishbolg’s aunt. Ishbolg had given Thanaleth a primer once, in their secret forest clearing, but that had been when they were keeping a careful distance. Now, he gripped her close around the waist, bringing her freshly oiled nipples into frequent electrifying contact with the leathers criss-crossing his barrel chest.

The distractions were intense, but Thanaleth’s centuries of experience as a dancer came to her aid, and she matched her husband’s moves with all the elegant power of an lady of the Eldar.


	6. Chapter 6

When the next song began, the band stepped up the tempo. Ishbolg kissed Thanaleth again and launched into the new dance. Soon, gripping her delightful ass, he spun her off into the arms of another Goblin. She disappeared into the crowd for a moment, then reappeared, launched back into his embrace, red-faced and grinning.

He turned her impetus into a lift, kissing her navel as she rose into the air and then setting her atwirl back into the melee. The next Goblin to catch her took the opportunity to slip a finger into her cunt as Thanaleth pressed to her chest.

His delightful bride was matched up next with Emathiol, and the two of them, grinning, switched briefly into a dazzling Elven dance.

A few of Ishbolg’s minions were groaning under the weight of a massive oaken bed, piled high with furs, which they had carried from the royal chambers for the capstone of the evening. They set it down in the center of the hall with a thud.

When Thanaleth spun back into his arms, panting with exertion and sensual overload, she pressed against him, laying her hand against the bulge in his trousers. Unlike his poor deprived bride, Ishbolg had already had relief tonight — memorably so — and yet he had been worked up again into an unbearable state.

“Please,” she managed, eyes wild with need, and he could deny her no longer. He guided their dance gently towards the bed, and together they settled into it at last, breathing hard, hands all over one another.

She wrenched at his belt, and he gripped both of her wrists in one large hand, restraining her haste.

“Hands behind your back, my Queen,” he said. She obeyed, reluctantly. “You’ve gotta ask for what you want.”

“Please, my King. Take your cock out for me. I want to feel you filling me up. I want all of our people to see me ride your cock in the middle of this hall like a shameless whore.”

He did take his cock out, giving it a light stroke with his hand as he watched her big gray eyes alight on it.

She inched forward, straddling him. Goblins were gathered all around the bed now. He held his cock upright, teased her with it, rubbed it slowly between her clit and her entrance. She whimpered. Her long hair, freed from its fancy bridal arrangment, spilled loosely down her back and breasts, tumbling almost his chest.

“I want you to use my cunt for your pleasure. I want your seed swimming inside me. I want them to see you give their Queen a child.”

This was no idle threat, he knew. Elven ladies, Thanaleth had told him, couldn’t just get knocked up by any old roll in the hay. They had to make an active effort to invest their will and power into the conception of a child, which helped explain why such a long-lived folk hadn’t taken over the world by sheer multiplication.

For his beautiful Elf lady to give him such a gift... He growled, wrapping his hands around her hips.

He guided her down onto his length, feeling her open wide around him, until she settled to a quivering stop at his root. He held her there, just enjoying the feeling of being in her.

Then, slowly, he lifted her again. With deliberate, agonizing strokes, he moved inside her, holding her hips steady as his thighs rose to meet her. Her eyes were closed, her breaths emerging as sobs of pleasure. Her breasts shook beautifully each time he found her center.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Come for me.”

Like a shot, her fingers found the hood of her cunt, dancing with the urgency of one who had been waiting 400 years for a moment like this. 

He began to move faster, pumping her hips up and down on his cock as she exploded into silent euphoria, her long spine curling in on itself as she clamped down on his cock in waves of pleasure. She seemed to forget to breathe for a moment, and then finally collapsed onto his chest, heaving great breaths as he continued to fuck her.

Then he, too, was lost — and suddenly, everything went weird.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanaleth’s mother hadn’t exactly told her how to conceive a child, only that she would know how when the time came. It was a bit of Elf magic, like calling on a river to surge. You just...willed it to happen.

Thanaleth willed it to happen.

She felt him lose control, felt his seed, his power rise up inside her, and she called on it to surge through her, to become one with her.

Several things happened at once.

Ishbolg’s eyes which had been heavy with pleasure, shot open, and she saw a bright glow reflected in them. Coming from her body, she realized.

She felt suddenly lightheaded.

From the oak beams of the bed, green shoots burst forth, thick with new leaves.

Nearby, a lamp burst into a fireball, sending hot glass flying.

Most of the Goblins had gathered around the bed, some dancing, some just watching, some...doing more than watching. Now, all at once, they staggered back as if struck.

I probably shouldn’t have done this with an audience, she thought, giddily, as wave after wave of something indescribable passed through the room.

She felt deeply connected with everything and everyone around her, as if they shared one soul. And in the center of it, there was the absolute knowledge of new life, entering the world through her.

A pleasure shot through her that was wholly unlike anything she had ever felt.

Her husband pulled her down roughly into a kiss, taking her mouth as his thrusts took on a renewed vigor. Her whole body felt stretched like a bowstring. He rolled her over onto her back, sinking into her with an animal intensity, and she dug her fingers into knotted shoulder muscles, wordlessly begging him to press her into the furs with his full weight as he spent a second — maybe third? — time in her womb.

When he rolled off of her, breathing shakily, he whistled. They lay there in the midst of what looked like a tiny, young forest, through which the glow of her body was casting coruscating light across the walls.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked around. Goblins were whimpering and moaning on the floor everywhere. A few of them were fucking each other. There... there was Emathiol, on her knees, her face buried in a Goblin’s cunt, dress pushed up around her waist, straddling the face of another Goblin who was lying on the floor.

As she watched, her friend shook with release, and Thanaleth could feel the force of it hit her, renewing her own arousal.

Ishbolg’s cock was standing high, apparently suffering a similar effect, and without even thinking she reached for it, taking it into her mouth.

Ishbolg was looking at her in utter wonderment as she tasted their mingled seed. Her jaw had been aching earlier, but now she engulfed his cock in her mouth with renewed vigor, burying her other hand in her sex.

When the excitement simmered down at last, and the guests had settled into various groaning heaps, Ishbolg called out weakly for a few attendants to take them back to their chambers.

With a lurch, the bed was lifted from the ground, and Thanaleth fell back bonelessly against the furs. 

They were set down again in the much cozier room where Ishbolg slept. 

And now, so did she. She smiled weakly.

Sleep. It was suddenly a very appealing notion.

Her husband cradled her with one arm, and she sank into his embrace as the burly attendants left the room, leaving them alone again at last.

“I don’t believe any King, nor Goblin band has ever had a better Queen,” he said, brushing a sticky glob from her chin with his thumb.

She snuggled against him, taking in his scent, nothing like an Elf’s, dark, almost smoky. Mine.

Big, fat tears were rolling from her eyes now, and she let them go. 

“How are you doing, my love?” he whispered, holding her close.

“I’m feeling many things right now,” she said. Love, lust, worries, fears, they were all suddenly blubbering out of her in a river of emotions.

She had taken the hallowed gifts of her people and dragged them through the slime, and worse, she had liked it. If her mother ever...

She shook her head. She refused to ever spend another moment worrying about what her mother thought of her.

Her people on the other hand. Her new people. She had started the day intending to prove to them that she could be a proper Goblin Queen. She had ended it by blasting them with strange and terrifying Elf magic.

“What do you need?”

“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me I didn’t ruin everything.”

“You were so good tonight,” he whispered, clutching her tight. “You showed such power and bravery. And if there’s any Goblin here who won’t see it, who disrespects your leadership in any way...” a growl had entered his voice, and he paused. “They’re going to eat absolute shit, I promise you that. I will _not_ let the Lime Hollow Goblins blow this for me.”

She wheezed a laugh, which trailed away into a gentle snore as the night carried her away at last.


	8. Chapter 8

Ishbolg tousled his trusty Warg Fimro’s fluffy head as she padded to stop on the rocky bluffs overlooking the river. She leaned into his taloned hand, and he scritched behind her ear with a crooked grin.

One of the nearby rocks had just become Thanaleth, as she twitched aside her gray Elf-cloak. A company of Goblin warriors clattered to a halt behind him.

“Foot soldiers! This way,” she hissed, gesturing to a path down the bluffs. “Warg riders — cut them off at the ford.”

Shouts and roars were coming from below. The ugly sound of terrified oxen trying to flee. A small trade caravan, their route following the riverbank to the next town. There, the waterway would become deep enough to continue by boat. But a trio of cave trolls had moved in on this difficult stretch, and they were bearing down on the wagons now with clubs fashioned from whole tree trunks.

Ishbolg’s blood sang as he kicked his Warg into action, leading his riders down the bluff in dizzying leaps.

He had disagreed with his new wife’s decision to mount this expedition. They were on the wrong side of the river, which marked the boundary between Lime Hollow lands and the domain claimed by Men of the West. An arrogant emissary had come to them, demanding that they do something about the raids across the river by Trolls living in Goblin territory. If Ishbolg had still been in charge, he would have sent the sneering Man on his way with a rude gesture.

“Trolls gotta eat,” he had told her. “Not our fault if these Men can’t defend their own farms and wagon trains.”

But, now that they were on the hunt, Ishbolg had to admit that he was enjoying himself. He nocked an arrow, grinning wickedly.

He was also enjoying letting go of responsibility. Keeping the peace in a Goblin band was a constant headache. He had sorely missed the life of a simple warrior and royal consort.

He did occasionally give Thanaleth advice. Recently, she had been forced to adjudicate a nasty dispute between three brothers and their elderly neighbor, over a cool boulder that both sides believed was in their den-land.

She had ruled in favor of the old woman, and the sons of Shuglókh had stalked out of the throne room in an ill temper that suggested further drunken brawls to follow.

“Did I handle that case justly?” she had asked him in the royal bedchamber later, shaking her head.

“Them boys didn’t have a leg to stand on,” he said, holding her close. “You did well. But…”

“What?”

“Goblin monarchs have ways of greasing the wheels of law. Hend…” he paused, searching her big, bright eyes. He knew that Thanaleth was anxious about taking Hend’s place as Queen, and he generally tried not to compare her to his dead Goblin wife. But Thanaleth’s face only showed openness. He plowed on. “She used to sometimes go to the losers in a dispute, and give them a consolation fuck.”

“You’re saying I should…?” she paused, mouth open.

“Only if you wish to, my Queen.” He pinched her nipple through her incredibly fine spider-silk nightdress. She gasped, twisting against him.

“How does it make you feel, to imagine whoring yourself out to your people? Trading your body for a scrap of loyalty?”

She moaned very softly, pressing against him. His cock responded, firming up against her belly, and she shifted knowingly, pushing at him, driving heat through him.

“But, then,” she said, dotting his lips with raindrop Elf-kisses, “Won’t everyone in the band expect similar treatment?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, grabbing her hips, pushing against them. “It will be up to you to see that their expectations are met, or denied. Or exceeded.”

He rolled her on top of himself, settling her down on his cock, her thin nightgown plastered to her cunt lips where she slicked along him.

“You _could_ restrain your people’s passions by making clear that you’ll offer yourself up to only those whose losing suit has some merit — so that you don’t get flooded with frivolous disputes from Goblins looking only to fuck their Queen.”

She was silent, transfixed, biting her beautiful little lower lip as she wriggled her clit across his length, her long hair spilling across his chest.

“Or,” he went on, “Maybe that kind of restraint is beyond you. Maybe time will prove you a more contemptible slut than any Goblin King or Queen before you.”

He tugged her sodden nightgown out from between them with a little growl. Her wide eyes were locked on his.

“You might offer your greedy, well-used Elf-cunt so freely that it loses its appeal,” he said, reaching twitching his cock so that it slipped up into her. “You might find yourself wandering around Lime Hollow, begging pathetically for Goblin cock, only to be spurned.”

“That’s,” she gasped, fucking him shamelessly, “Horrible!”

“But the thought of it drives you wild, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, red-faced. He slapped one of the lovely breasts hanging over him.

“You’d be so wet, wouldn’t you? Knowing that you’d fallen from lofty, flawless Elf princess to a piece of Goblin fuckmeat,” he taunted, as she let out a moan, “And then fallen even further — to a piece of _worthless, discarded_ Goblin fuckmeat.”

“Please,” she shuddered. “Let me come.” 

His fingertips found her clit then, and within moments she crumbled onto him, convulsing with release, her walls clutching at his cock. That was all he needed.

The next day, they went down to visit the sons of Shuglókh, and she threw herself down naked on the cool boulder. Ishbolg had spent the next half-hour sitting nearby with the brothers’ aged neighbor, sipping a mug of her foul tea and playing dominoes as they watched the brothers have their way with Thanaleth. 

She had drawn a crowd of other onlookers over time, Goblins who heard the commotion and came to see their new Queen, just beginning to grow plump with child, getting rutted by the losers in the boulder dispute.

Now, as he let his first arrow fly towards one of the great trolls, Ishbolg thought back to the giddy grin that had flashed across her face when she stumbled back to him, spend dripping down her chin and chest and thighs.

Even in the dim light, he could spot a similar grin dancing across her eyes as she leapt from rock to rock with impossible grace, leading the charge while launching missiles with a swiftness no Goblin could match.

Just as his arrow punctured the mighty left arm of one of the Trolls, one, two, three of hers stubbled into its back. The Olog-hai’s roar turned abruptly from triumph to alarm, and the hubbub from the caravan changed pitch. It would take far more than that to bring down a Cave Troll, but at least they had its attention.

All the Elves he’d witnessed in combat had fought with austere expressions glued to their faces. But Thanaleth, he had noticed, couldn’t always maintain that stick-in-the-mud demeanor.

She couldn’t hide her true self — at least, not any more — and he loved her for it.


End file.
